"Since thus ye have combined," he said,
"My fav'rite nymph to slight,
Adorning May, that peevish maid,
With June's undoubted right;

The minx shall, for your folly's sake,
Still prove herself a shrew,

Shall make your scribbling fingers ache,

And pinch your noses blue."

William Cowper.

CCCVIII.

THE MERMAID TAVERN.

SOULS of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise

Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of Venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his Maid Marian,
Sup and bowse from horn and can.

I have heard that on a day
Mine host's signboard flew away
Nobody knew whither, till
An astrologer's old quill
To a sheepskin gave the story-
Said he saw you in your glory
Underneath a new-old Sign
Sipping beverage divine,

And pledging with contented smack
The Mermaid in the Zodiac !

'TIS gone, with its thorns and its roses, With the dust of dead ages to mix; Time's charnel for ever encloses

The year Eighteen hundred and six !

Though many may question thy merit,
I duly thy dirge will perform,
Content, if thy heir but inherit

Thy portion of sunshine and storm!

My blame and my blessing thou sharest,
For black were thy moments in part,
But O! thy fair days were the fairest
That ever have shone on my heart.

If thine was a gloom the completest
That death's darkest cypress could throw,
Thine, too, was a garland the sweetest
That life in full blossom could show!

One hand gave the balmy corrector
Of ills which the other had brew'd ;
One draught of thy chalice of nectar
All taste of thy bitters subdued.

'Tis gone, with its thorns and its roses!
With mine tears more precious will mix,
To hallow this midnight which closes,
The year Eighteen hundred and six.

Honble. William R. Spencer.

CCCX.

MINERVA'S THIMBLE.

YOUNG Jessica sat all the day,

With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining;
Her needle bright beside her lay,

So active once !-now idly shining.

Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts

That love and mischief are most nimble;

The safest shield against the darts

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.

The child, who with a magnet plays,
Well knowing all its arts, so wily,
The tempter near a needle lays,

And laughing, says, "we'll steal it slily."
The needle, having nought to do,

Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle,
Till closer, closer come the two,

And off, at length, elopes the needle.

Now, had this needle turn'd its eye
To some gay reticule's construction,
It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie,

Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction.
Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts,
Your snowy fingers must be nimble;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.

Thomas Moore.

CCCXI.

ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA

BRITANNICA.

Oн, fond attempt to give a deathless lot
To names ignoble, born to be forgot!
In vain, recorded in historic page,
They court the notice of a future age:

These twinkling tiny lustres of the land
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand
Lethæan gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all.

;

So when a child, as playful children use, Has burn'd to tinder a stale last year's news, The flame extinct, he views the roving fireThere goes my lady, and there goes the squire ! There goes the parson, oh, illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk! William Cowper

CCCXII.

A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN.

Risum teneatis, amici?—

"THE longer one lives the more one learns,"
Said I, as off to sleep I went,

Bemused with thinking of tithe concerns,
And reading a book by the Bishop of Ferns,
On the Irish Church Establishment.

But, lo! in sleep not long I lay,

When Fancy her usual tricks began,
And I found myself bewitch'd away
To a goodly city of Hindostan-
A city, where he, who dares to dine

On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner;
Where sheep and kine are held divine,
And accordingly-never drest for dinner.

"But how is this?" I wondering cried,
As I walked that city, fair and wide,
And saw in every marble street,

A row of beautiful butchers' shops-
"What means, for men who don't eat meat,
This grand display of loins and chops?"
In vain I ask'd-'twas plain to see
That nobody dared to answer me.

So, on, from street to street I strode ;
And you can't conceive how vastly odd

The butchers look'd-a roseate crew,
Inshrined in stalls with nought to do;
While some on a bench, half dozing, sat,
And the Sacred Cows were not more fat.

Still posed to think what all this scene Of sinecure trade was meant to mean, "And pray," asked I, "by whom is paid The expense of this strange masquerade? "The expense! Oh, that's of course defray'd," Said one of these well-fed Hecatombers, "By yonder rascally rice-consumers. "What! they, who mustn't eat meat!". "No matter " (And while he spoke his cheeks grew fatter), "The rogues may munch their Paddy crop, But the rogues must still support our shop. And, depend upon it, the way to treat

Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, Is to burthen all that won't eat meat With a costly Meat Establishment."

On hearing these words so gravely said,
With a volley of laughter loud I shook ;

And my slumber fled, and my dream was sped,
And I found I was lying snug in bed,

With my nose in the Bishop of FERNS's book.

Thomas Moore.

CCCXIII.

WHEN Love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him,

And back he vow'd his flight he'd wing
To Heaven, if she should leave him.

But Spring departing, saw his faith
Pledged to the next new comer-
He revell'd in the warmer breath
And richer bowers of Summer.